


Silent Night

by Beckers522



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Deaf Character, M/M, Post-World War II, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522
Summary: Deapite his well-known hatred for the cold, Crowley drags Aziraphale out caroling one Christmas Eve for one very special reason - one that Aziraphale can hardly believe until he sees it.Art by Gemennair
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54
Collections: AntiChrist-mas Zine Collection





	Silent Night

“Why do you think they put up all the lights?”

Aziraphale blinked at the sudden sound, having completely forgotten Crowley was lounging in his bookshop, nursing a bottle of red wine. Blue eyes danced across the room, coming to rest upon the lithe figure, dressed in black. The demon was currently leaning up against the wall, amber eyes peering out the windows into streets just now losing their last bit of natural light.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale inquired, not entirely sure what his companion was referring to. He imagined there were plenty of lights this time of night with all the cars driving down the busy streets of London and the streetlamps lighting their way. It would be strange  _ not _ to see any lights while looking out of the bookshop window, and yet Crowley seemed surprised.

“The  _ lights _ ,” he emphasized, as if reiterating his statement might help Aziraphale better understand what in the heavens he was talking about. “You know, angel. All the little twinkling lights. In the windows. Wrapped around the lampposts.” He lifted a hand, gesturing to the window beside him. “Why do the humans put them up, do you think?”

Before Aziraphale had a moment to gather his thoughts, Crowley moved on to the next topic of discussion, somewhat loosely related to the last. “Is that -  _ music? _ ” Crowley asked. The angel’s heart leapt with anticipation. He, too, could hear the faint melody drifting down the streets, coming closer each minute that ticked by. All conversation in the bookshop paused as angel and demon listened to the enchanting sound.

Crowley’s fingers were still resting behind the blinds. As the sound drew closer, the demon shifted them away from the window, his eyes widening before the darkened streets, trying to let in as much light as possible. “Those are people out there,” he announced. “Humans. Just out there - singing. In the  _ cold. _ It’s practically snowing, Aziraphale, and they’re just out there, marching along.  _ Singing. _ ”

Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, hand moving for the bookmark beside his chair. “Oh yes! I was hoping to see some carolers this week. ‘Tis the season, after all!”

Amber eyes turned to meet his gaze, mouth slightly agape. “Carolers?”

Aziraphale blinked. Was he being serious right now? “Of course, Crowley,” the angel responded, placing his book gently down on the table before rising to his feet. “Humans have been singing Christmas Carols since well before the thirteenth century. Surely you must have heard them before.”

Two thin shoulders shifted upward in some semblance of a shrug. “Course I have,” he defended himself. “‘Bout five hundred or so years ago. But back then they didn’t have anything better to do, did they? Now they have television, electricity, and heating that’s thousands of times better than a stupid ol’ fireplace. Why would they want to go out in the dead of winter, just to sing some songs?”

Aziraphale crossed the room to stand at the opposite side of the window, drawing back the blinds to see the crowd forming just down the street. They were all bundled up in thick wool coats, paired with hats and scarves and mittens outstretched, holding small booklets in their hands. The wives stood next to their husbands, while a large group of children all stood up at the front.

The carolers had stopped across the street and would no doubt be at his doorstep soon. Normally, Aziraphale didn’t enjoy people paying his bookshop much attention. Humans were naturally messy creatures. On any given day, he would rather them stay far away from his precious collection of books, but this time it was different. The carolers were not here to peruse his shelves and smudge the pages of his books. They were here to provide lovely music from the doorstep of his shop and then be on their merry way.

“I imagine they like the routine of it all,” Aziraphale answered softly as he watched the group collectively turn their pages and start another familiar tune. “The tradition.”

Crowley wasn’t listening. Normally, Aziraphale wouldn’t have known that fact to be true, as he was too busy watching the carolers himself, but the abrupt movement caught his attention. Crowley was standing now, upright and alert, his eyes still staring pointedly at the people across the street, completely clear of their previous drunken haze.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale began, more than a bit confused, “What are you -”

The serpent was already gone. With a snap of his finger, his coat and hat were on, firmly buttoned and tugged down over his ears to ward off as much of the cold as he could. Snow was now beginning to fall against the paved streets, although it hadn’t quite begun to stick yet. Still, Aziraphale could see traces of the crystalline flakes resting up against the top of the hats and scarves on display outside. It wouldn’t be long before all of London was covered in a blanket of white.

“Are you alright?” the angel asked, worry seeping into his voice. Had he done something to offend his companion? Worry gnawed at his stomach, and not for the first time, Aziraphale wished that living in these human corporations could be done  _ without _ the emotions that always seemed to come with them. 

It had been less than ten years since they’d found each other. Less than ten years since the bomb and the church and the books and things had been going well. He and Crowley had picked up right where they’d left off, as if nothing had happened. No mention of Holy Water or century long naps or either one of them  _ fraternizing _ with anyone else. Things had been, dare he say, nice. Aziraphale fretted at the thought that he might have done something on this very calm night to upset his fr- his acquaintance, in any way.

“Fine, Aziraphale,” the demon’s voice was distant, distracted. He was moving with purpose, flinging open the door and stepping out into the cold, December night like it was nothing. Like he didn’t absolutely hate the chill and the wind and the wetness of the snow falling around them both. In his panic, Aziraphale had almost forgotten to grab his coat. He stepped inside quickly closing the door just enough to block anyone from seeing the miracle sparking at his fingertips, and then rushed outside to join Crowley and the humans just now wrapping up their song.

“Come to join the festivities?” One young man asked as he caught sight of Aziraphale. The angel smiled, distractedly, watching from the corner of his eyes as Crowley slipped by several dozen bodies standing in the street, slithering through them like the serpent that Aziraphale so often forgot he was. Where was Crowley going? What had he seen out here that was interesting enough to pull him away from the cozy, wine-filled bookshop? If Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken, the demon had actually sobered up before marching out here. But why?

“Oh yes,” the angel responded, not wanting to seem rude. “We heard your lovely music and just had to come out and join in.”

The man grinned. “Welcome!” he offered up the booklet in hand, but Aziraphale declined with a gentle wave. He’d been around when these songs were written. What a poor excuse of an angel he’d be if he didn’t have them memorized by now. “The more the merrier, I always say.”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale had already stopped paying attention to the human, his eyes falling on a familiar slender form currently squatting before a puddle, amber eyes level with a small girl. She was no older than nine, dressed in a simple plaid dress. Long, white ruffle sleeves peeked out from underneath her navy blue coat each time she reached down to examine the collection of small stones at her feet. 

“Come along now, Marilyn,” a nearby voice called. Aziraphale stepped to the side as the carolers began to move down the street, moving as a single unit rather than a collection of several dozen individuals. Blue eyes fell on a well dressed man in his late thirties. He was tall, clean shaven, with deep brown eyes and hair that was peppered with grey. Aziraphale watched as the man waited, patiently at first, then with growing irritation when the girl did not respond. She seemed as content as ever to continue kicking at the rocks by her feet, eyes drifting upward slightly as they skittered down the street.

“ _ Now _ , Marilyn,” the man repeated, his hand resting firmly on the girl’s shoulder, tugging a little. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to grab her attention. “Your brother is already halfway to the next block.”

The child ignored him and Aziraphale’s eyes flickered down to Crowley’s form. He was still squatting in the street, a few feet in front of the girl, doing absolutely nothing. He was just...watching her. Waiting for her to look up at him.

Eventually, she did and Crowley smiled. Aziraphale watched in wonder as he lifted his hand to wave at her. When she did not respond, he hardly seemed discouraged. Instead of standing up and heading back into the comfortable, cozy bookshop, Crowley lifted his hands to be directly in her line of sight and did something with them Aziraphale did not understand.

It was some kind of purposeful movement. The touching of his fingertips to his palm quickly shifting into his right index finger dancing across other parts of his hand. Aziraphale was genuinely perplexed. What was Crowley doing? 

The change in the girl was immediate. Her eyes flew open wide, fixing themselves on Crowley’s as her hands moved to reply. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest as he saw a wide grin appear on Crowley’s angular face. The way his amber eyes danced in the streetlights was nothing short of breathtaking, and yet, instead of being captivated by the soft glow, Aziraphale found his eyes drawn to the digits dancing between child and the demon kneeling before her. Crowley was somehow...communicating with her. The smile on her face was bright and wide and the angel found he was unable to look away.

“What…” he trailed off, eyes seeking the father’s face, only to find he looked as perplexed as Aziraphale felt. “What are they saying?”

The man looked up with shimmering eyes. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully as the hand fell away from his daughter’s shoulders. Crowley rose to his feet and began to walk down the street at her side, hands moving a mile a minute. It was only after several moments that Aziraphale realized the pattern of motion matched the song.

The angel nearly stopped in his tracks. Tears filled his eyes and he rapidly blinked them away. Here it was. Proof, once again, that Crowley - a  _ demon  _ \- had a heart filled with more goodness than most people’s ever would. He’d not only recognized that this child had been dragged along to an event where she could not participate, but he had taken it upon himself to come out into the cold, which he hated, to help her feel included. He was signing to her as the people around them sang, sharing with her the music of Christmas that she might not ever get to experience otherwise.

It was truly a sight to behold.

“Their mother passed away this year,” the man explained as they walked. He kept his voice low, not wanting to interfere with the tune drifting up from the crowd in front of them. “I think it’s obvious I have no idea what I’m doing without her.” He paused, gloved hands burying deep inside his pockets. “Marilyn lost her hearing when she was three. An infection.” He took a deep breath, fighting back the emotions that were so clearly beneath the surface. Aziraphale could feel the love washing off him in waves as he watched both his children ahead of him. The affection and the pride...and the sorrow.

“I wasn’t around as much as I should have been,” he admitted softly as the carolers came to stand in front of a small cafe, twinkling fairy lights strung all along the faded blue door. The chorus drifted high into the snowy night sky and Aziraphale shivered. Not due to any chill or discomfort he felt, but in response to the sheer magic that had overtaken the night. “She’s a stranger to me.” A pause. “I don’t know how to do what he does.”

Blue eyes admired the sight from afar, never wavering. The other child had rushed back to stand by his father, singing loudly and a bit off key, but Aziraphale paid the younger boy no mind. He had eyes only for the girl and the demon before him, hands and arms moving in sync with each other as they sang the words of the ancient hymn the only way she knew how.

“It’s never too late to learn.”

Crowley stayed by that girl's side well into the night. They marched all over Soho, as well as parts of Mayfair and Bloomsbury. His hands never wavered, shifting seamlessly from one song into the next until every last one had been sung.

“Come on, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured as they watched the crowd disperse. Little Marilyn and her younger brother skipping ahead of their father, laughing as they spun arms wide beneath the white flakes falling to the ground. “Let’s get you back to the bookshop for some hot chocolate, hm? I daresay you’ve earned it.”

Crowley smiled, despite the snow that had piled up against his neck, despite the bitter redness of his cheeks. He hugged his arms tightly against his chest and took just a half step closer to Aziraphale, just as he had all those millennia ago on the walls of eden. 

“Sounds perfect, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry I've been quiet recently. I'm struggling a bit with my mental health and needed to step away from writing Good Omens fics for a bit. This is one of three fics I wrote for the Antichrist-mas Zine, and now that it is officially Christmas Eve, I can now share them with you.
> 
> Each one includes an illustration that will be posted in the fic and linked on Instagram once the artist makes their work public. If you can't see it right away, check back in a few days and hopefully I'll have something for you by then.
> 
> If you liked what you read, feel free to leave kudos or a comment. I could really use the encouragement right about now.
> 
> Fun fact! In the image (illustrated by Gemennair), Crowley is signing the phrase "To the World" from the hymn Joy to the World and I love it so much I might just tear up every time I see it. Gorgeous job.


End file.
